


Gin & Kerosene

by serenadinsirens



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadinsirens/pseuds/serenadinsirens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"suckitdeadteam said: This awesome professor only has one TA slot and we’re rivals aaaaand mavin"</p>
<p>There’s no way this British fuckhole was gonna ruin this for Michael Jones.</p>
<p>No way in Satan’s Hell, or every last inch of matter that God put on the land above it, was there a single goddamn, motherfucking ounce of a chance that this last minute bitch was gonna take away Michael’s opportunity to be the Teaching Assistant for the prestigious Professor Geoffery Lazer Ramsey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gin & Kerosene

**Author's Note:**

> decided to continue with the 'limited to michael's pov with fall out boy lyrics as a title' trend i have going here

There’s absolutely  _no way_ that this British fuckhole was gonna ruin this for Michael Jones.

No way in Satan’s Hell, or every last inch of matter that God put on the land above it, was there a single goddamn, motherfucking ounce of a chance that this last minute  _bitch_ was gonna take away Michael’s opportunity to be the Teaching Assistant for the  _prestigious_ Professor Geoffery Lazer Ramsey.

No, absolutely not.

This British twat just happened to  _barge in_ one day when the two were discussing it after work like he owned the fucking place (NEWS FLASH: there were 40,000 students on over 400 square acres of campus, bitch, you aren’t special) and opened his dumb fucking  ~~attractive~~  English mouth like, “oi Geoff give me a job you prick because I need attention 24/7 or else I start to feel bad about myself!”

Okay, maybe he was exaggerating. Michael Jones was in no way a stranger to the odd, and perpetually annoying- so much so that it  _still_ surprised him, to this day, whenever he opened his mouth- Gavin Free. No, they’d known each other since middle school when the man, the myth, the asshole’d moved here from God know’s where (Oxfordshire, England. Michael just knew that just off the top of his head,  _not_ because he had some inner infatuation with the guy at  _all_ ) and declared him king of the world. Or at least, Austin, Texas. He still wasn’t a king of anything.

And Gavin, Gavin was just a pest. A pest that just so happened to have a very aesthetically pleasing face that flirts with him any time they come in contact with each other (he’d even done it when he barged in on his and Geoff’s meeting, “rage quit, love, charming as always”. Fuck yourself, buddy) that makes Michael’s heart run like it’s been training for a fucking marathon or something, but a pest nonetheless. And was there any chance in hell that Michael was going to let a pest take this opportunity from him over something as petty as a game of beer pong?

God, no. Not over his rotting, decomposing corpse.

"Ready to give up, yet, you angry  _bitch_?” 

Of course, it should be well known that not only was Michael  _god awful_  at beer pong, but Gavin happened to be very well acquainted with the skill. 

"Suck MY wee-wee," was the most eloquent thing he could get out at this very second because, believe it or not, having to down a cup full of beer every time his opponent hit a ping pong ball across the table was going to leave him at a loss for words. Or, at the very least, poetic capabilities.

Michael tossed the ball and hit Gavin square in the forehead.

If he was more sober, he’d come to the conclusion that this wasn’t very fair of a game for the losing side, if the more they drank the less coordinated they got, but due to the alcohol coursing through his system because of the aforementioned statement, the only thing Michael could do was laugh at the stupid expression Gavin had on his face after thumped right between his eyes. Fuckin’ score.

Gavin rubbed the reddening spot on his forehead, “I’ll- I’ll tell you what,” he said, slurring his words slightly but a glint still in his eyes, “if I can make this shot, right, you let me kiss you righ’ on your lips, yeah?”

And, God, did that pique his interest, Michael thought as he licked those lips that Gavin’s eyes were paying a little too much attention to. Yes, that sounded so very interesting.

Michael Jones hated Gavin Free with a firey passion- or some sort of passion that set his veins aflame the same way hatred does, and, oddly enough, the same way four beers do, as well. And thinking about kissing Gavin Free with that exact same burning will? 

Nah, for some reason, that didn’t cut it.

Michael finished the contents of his cup. “I’ve got a better deal for you, Gavvers,” he said, setting the red plastic down on the table, eyes oddly more sharpened and focused than they were before, “how about, you forget that ball, you forget that shitty job offering as Ramsey’s TA, or whatever, I’ll help you finish off the rest of those beers, and you kiss me righ’ on my lips back at my apartment.”

And thank the heavens, Gavin sure seemed to like that deal a lot, as he picked up a cup of beer for himself, and another for Michael, raising an eyebrow, but looking back at him over the table with dilated pupils. He licked his lips, and put the plastic up to his lips, but never, not once, broke eye contact between the two.

"Deal."


End file.
